


Rethink Your Technique

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Coercion, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Restraints, honestly just sin I'm sorry y'all, one sentence of finn/poe if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Poe couldn’t tell anyone about his dreams.</i>
</p><p>A little bit about Poe, having seriously inappropriate dreams about being captured by Kylo Ren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rethink Your Technique

**Author's Note:**

> Really just wanted some nasty stuff to happen after the first ten minutes of SW:TFA with Poe getting captured... and str8 into the Kylo Ren trash can I go. Sorry Mom.

Poe couldn’t tell anyone about his dreams.

It was common enough, for soldiers to have nightmares. Ever since they had returned to base, other people had commented about the bags under his eyes, the haunted look on his face. Finn especially asked if he was sleeping, offered to spend the night in his room if it might keep the nightmares away. As much as Poe wanted that, he knew he couldn’t explain his dreams. Waking up in the darkness, twisted in the sheets, sweating and shaking…

Every time it started the same. Poe strapped in restraints on the First Order ship, bruised and still bleeding. The dark figure approaching him, reaching, searching. Sometimes he was wearing the mask, sometimes not, but the intensity of his presence never wavered. It was normal for soldiers to have dreams about their battles, about capture and torture. Poe used to dream about flying. Now he dreamed about Kylo Ren, every night. Those long black fingers, reaching out for his face.

It never stopped there. If it did, maybe Poe could ask for help, could share the burden of his dark memories. But these were not memories. They weren’t even nightmares, not in the proper sense. A nightmare is a thing of fear. But the only thing Poe feared was how his breath caught when Kylo Ren dropped to his knees before him. How Poe, captured and wounded, felt light-headed at the power he knew he commanded over that monster. Poe had seen Ren murder with his own eyes, and yet when Poe looked into the dark eyes beseechingly turned to his own, he felt nothing but hot lust curl inside him. Kylo’s eyes, the tumble of hair over his brow, the firm set of his lips— it set Poe on fire. Poe wished he would burn, wished he would turn to ashes instead of moaning when Kylo tugged open the zipper on his flight suit. 

Sometimes Poe would wake up there, just as he could feel fingers curl possessively over his stomach, and on those nights Poe was thankful. It was painful to lay in bed, unmoving, staring at the ceiling until the light creeped in, but he would sooner die than give in to the blood rushing through his body. The first time it happened, Poe chalked it up to stress. It was harder to explain away a dream that came back over and over, and over, dogging his steps during the day and taking over his mind at night.

Some nights, Kylo Ren open and staring up at him was just the beginning. The drag of leather gloves caught over the blood on Poe’s face, pulled open barely healed wounds and pushed away any words when they ran over his mouth. In his dreams, Kylo Ren didn’t kiss. Instead he bit, hard enough make Poe gasp, he licked and sucked dark bruises down the length of his neck. Poe would give as good as he got, when he could, twisting hard enough to rub the skin off his wrists to get at Kylo’s face, his fingers when he finally took off the gloves. 

The bare fingertips tracing down his chest made Poe’s breath catch. He was naked under the flight suit, always, the fabric rubbing and pulling over his hot skin. Kylo would unzip the front as far as it went, painfully slow, staring with that constant intensity. It wrecked Poe that he was never afraid, never disgusted as he should be. In the dream, it was the shiver in Ren’s hands as they mapped his scars, the quietest sigh that sounded like fear. When Kylo shrugged the flight suit from Poe’s shoulders, bunching it down around the restraints, Poe would lean into him and rub against the rough black fabric of his robes. Anything on his skin felt like relief. Kylo’s strong fingers skimming down his stomach made Poe groan softly, always unable to contain his pleasure. 

If it stopped there, sometimes, Poe wouldn’t be able to stop himself from writhing in the sheets of his bunk until he came, a sharp spike of bliss followed by immediate regret. He would turn the shower as cold as it went, shivering and trying hard not to think about anything as he washed away the darkness of the night. 

When Kylo finally touched him in the dream, it was with a sense of reverence, a note of hesitance. Poe would rock into his hand, biting his lip against the desperate sounds that threatened to slip out. Poe’s cock was always wet, leaking after Kylo’s exploration of his body, but sometimes Ren would offer Poe his fingers to suck on before taking him in a loose grip. The slide of his hand, rough from years of fighting, was enough to make Poe scream. It never lasted long enough, it always lasted far too long— Right before he would spill over Kylo’s clever fingers, Poe thought he could hear Kylo gasping for breath. Poe could never look at him, in that moment, too overwhelmed by the pleasure crashing over him in waves. He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking...

And opening his eyes to the darkness of his room, again.


End file.
